Remembering
by bleedblck
Summary: A dark angsty fic. Alex reflects on her advice to Shaz post 1.7


Slightly different to my other stories, hope you like it ;) - I dont own anything

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'No, get off me' she yelled, pushing his arms away. Alex was disgusted with him, and she let it show. Gil Hollis' battered body lay pathetically at his feet, gasping for air after Chris' attack.

She turned away and started walking, clenching her hands into fists, sticky with blood. She remembered screaming at Shaz to fight, fight the clown that had been coming to take her. She shuddered at the memory. 'Fight' she'd said – fight him, but she herself had given up, somehow forgotten the desperate need to get back, to return to Molly. The feelings came back in full force now, the intensity magnified by the realisation of her betrayal, of her forgotten fight. She felt them like a physical blow to her stomach - heart cold, nauseous, empty. She fell to her knees with the weight of it, hands coming out to protect her face as a reflex, the sharp stones on the tarmac cutting the soft skin of her knees and tearing at the palms of her hands.

Gene stood, straight-backed watching her walk away from him. His stomach sinking as he realised the gravity of his actions. He'd thought they were finally getting somewhere – she'd risked her life to stand beside him as Hollis waved his gun around for God's sake.

'Hold on Alex' he shouted at her retreating back. She continued, ignoring his commanding tone. Glancing back at his team he checked that Chris and Ray were concentrating on Shaz, waiting for the ambulance he could see and hear in the distance – the flashing lights and wailing sirens growing ever closer.

Narrowing his eyes, Gene cursed Hollis – he screwed everything up. Not just tonight – no, that was just the straw that broke the camels back – but this whole case had caused noting but problems for himself and his DI. Yes _his _DI, although after tonight he could not be sure that this was still true.

Sighing, he turned to face Alex once more, starting when he realised she had continued to walk away, not stopping as he had expected. The red-stained white leather was only slightly visible in the dark.

'DI Drake' he shouted once again, striding towards her, his anger now directing itself towards her as she ignored him a second time. He lengthened his stride refusing to break into a jog and began to catch up.

They had been walking for almost 5 minutes, Gene's anger had faded and curiosity had spiked. He watched her carefully, keeping back several paces. He had tried calling twice more without any sign from her that she'd heard. In fact, she seemed to be in some sort of trance – not looking before she crossed roads, ignoring known streets – they were obviously not walking back to the station, or Luigi's and he was curious as to where she was unknowingly leading him.

He saw her shudder, her fists now clenched tight beside her thighs. He watched as she tripped, coming down heavily on the hands and knees before he had time to react. Gene rushed to her side, kneeling to help her up. His insides froze at the noise that left her mouth. It was an awful mix between a moan and a scream, full of pain and anguish. He reached out to grab her; pulling her shaking body against him as he sat on the tarmac to hold her. She drew a long shuddering breath and let out a second moan as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, brushing her hair off her tear-soaked face.

'Bolls' he sighed as he kissed the top of her head, beginning to rock her. Gene had heard that sickening moan before – it was one of the worst parts of watching a mother identifying a dead child. He shuddered – he'd always dreaded the day he would hear it from someone he knew – a friend. It was even worse hearing it from Alex. It cut him deeper than it should have, but then he'd known his feelings for her ran much deeper than friendship – or even lust. It made him sick to imagine what might have caused her obvious agony.

She was sobbing into him now, her hands clinging to him suddenly as though she'd just noticed his presence. He continued to rock her as her hands desperately clutched at his back and chest to get a better hold, to pull him closer to her. Gradually her movements slowed, she was inside the confines of his coat, her hand under his shirt pressed against his bare skin, finding comfort. Gene's rhythmic rocking continued, willing her. Her heart-wrenching sobs had slowed to uneven, heavy breaths and the occasional hiccup.

Gene knew that she was far from all right, but he was grateful that the cries that tore at him had stopped. He had no words – sorry had never seemed more redundant and anything else he could think of sounded selfish, narcissistic or insensitive so he stuck to silence.

He shifted her in his lap slightly so he could look at her. She was lying across him, held like a baby in his arms against her chest. She sniffed, looking up at him, her pain-filled eyes meeting his saddened ones. She managed a weak smile, which Gene found he couldn't return. He kissed her forehead gently stroking her back as she flexed her fingers and struggled against his chest, pushing her face into his neck, sighing softly.

Gene continued to rock as they sat on the side on the hard tarmac on the side of the road.


End file.
